


I Loved You First

by sansjoshiki



Series: I Loved You First [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Steve, Demisexual Bucky, Gay Brock, Good Guy Brock, High School AU, M/M, Non-serum Steve, Such a Good Guy!, Tags to be added as story progresses cos writer is fickle-minded, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-14 17:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansjoshiki/pseuds/sansjoshiki
Summary: Or Four Times Bucky Came Out To Steve, And Once When Steve Listened.





	1. A Tale As Old As Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this was inspired by the trope that sees the (initially)one- sided/mutual pining of Bucky and/or Steve well into adulthood when it's finally reciprocated.  
> How on earth did they manage though as teenagers under the realization and subsequent weight of that unrequited love? The core world of most teens is limited - family, friends, school - so when first love hits one in the face, it can be consuming. And that's where we find our Bucky who (although he doesn't know it yet) is demisexual and so gone on his best and closest friend. Cue heartache.

 

"How do I look?"

Steve emerged from the ensuite bathroom and stood at the foot of Bucky's bed, his arms stretched out to his sides.

Bucky, sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed, looked up from the poem he was composing and leveled at him what he imagined to be a cool, assessing gaze as would befit a fashion critic. And burst into a burble of giggles.

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Steve stomped his foot.

"Buck! You know this's important to me!" he said crossly, his brow pinched in a frown.

Bucky held up a supplicating palm, took a deep, steadying breath, and burst into more laughter.

"What's so funny with the way I look!" Steve stomped his foot harder and flapped his arms. 

Bucky did not know why he was laughing. He actually thought Steve looked perfect. A white, long-sleeved cotton button-down that gave his lithe frame a little volume without making him look like he was wearing a hand-me-down from someone two sizes larger. A pair of low-slung jeans that clung just right to his hips and flattered his slim legs. Perfect.

But Bucky was a bookworm. A lover of all things fantasy and science fiction, and a devotee of Terry Pratchett. He had read and re-read every Discworld novel there was.  When the writer had passed on, he had cried as though he had lost a beloved family member. Steve had sat with his arm slung over Buck's shoulders, offering comfort. So now, to do Steve's question justice, he channeled Tiffany Aching and her Third Thoughts.

First Thought: _Why am I laughing? Because Stevie looks so cute! Oemaigawd. Ahhh!_ _Ican'tstandit!_

Second Thoughts: _God. He's so handsome. So. Handsome. Look at that. His ungelled hair's hanging over his right eye at just the right angle. He's pissed at me and that's brought out the color in his cheeks. His lips're parted just enough for his tongue to peek through. Such a pink tongue._

Third Thoughts: _Dammit, Barnes. Dammit. Why'd you have to ask him over. Of all things to get all dolled up in your bedroom?!_

Why had he done that indeed. When he had been crushing on his best friend for the better part of a year. When he had realized that he was gay and had not come out to anyone besides his mother and sister and was crushing on his best friend. When his crush had asked him to help dress him for a date with _his_ crush.

He realized Steve was not staring daggers at him any longer when the latter asked in a voice tinged with mild concern, "Buck? You 'kay?' 

_Shit. No, Steven, I'm really not._

Hoping his expression had not given much away, Bucky schooled his features and cleared his throat.

"You look good, bud. I'm sorry. Just not used to seeing you all decked out in your Sunday best on a Saturday."

_Smooth, Barnes. So lame._

Steve bought it though. He lowered his head a little and looked at the floorboards. A shy smile played about his lips as he asked in half the tone of his normal pitch, "Think Pegs will like it?"

_If she doesn't, she doesn't deserve you._

He knew, unfortunately, that if Peggy Carter did have a type, it would come in all flavors Steven Grant Rogers. He had been present when the beautiful brunette exchange student and Steve had first encountered each other two weeks earlier. The attraction between the two was immediate. Palpable.

And a knife through Bucky's heart.

It was the first time a girl had shown any interest of the heart kind towards his best friend, so what else could Bucky do than to listen with an attentive ear when the boy gushed over Peggy all through that day, the next and then the subsequent twelve?

Bucky got off the bed and stood before Steve.

"Bud," he said, placing his hand in a firm grip where Steve's neck met his shoulder, "Peggy likes you. You could go out with her in your holey, faded Sandman t-shirt and your frayed boardshorts and she'd see you for yourself, and not care at all what you're wearing. But trust me, today, you look perfect."

Even as Bucky said this, he wondered to himself if there was a career in politics in his future. He was not lying by a long shot, but he marveled at his poker face game.

Steve leaned into Bucky's hand and as it had for sometime now, Bucky's heart sped up. Both of them were tactile with each other and had been so almost from the moment they became fast friends as first graders. Where once hugging each other or grabbing hands as they ran was as natural as breathing and welcomed every time, lately anytime Steve reciprocated, Bucky would feel that speeding up, followed by a slowing down to a dull ache. He wondered how his ticker would hold up in the days and months, and God forbid but please God for the sake of Steve's happiness, the possible years ahead with Peggy. Because sixteen he may have been, but Bucky was intuitive enough to see the almost tangible glow that wrapped itself around Steve and Peggy when they were together.

"Did the heavens part?' his mother had asked, with his twin sister, Becca, chipping in to ask if he had heard a choir of angels. Both had then eye rolled him. He had wondered not for the first time why he ever bothered confiding in them. 

"Hey, that the poem you were working on?"

For a moment, he did not know what Steve was talking about. Not until the latter plucked at the piece of paper hanging limply from his other hand.

All at once, Bucky grew nervous and his fingers instinctively tightened on the lower half of the ruled sheet before Steve could pull it all the way from them. 

The Poem. It was, in Bucky's honest opinion, a silly piece of drivel. But he had longed to tell Steve he was gay, and knew even without spending hours dwelling on it that if he said it out loud, it would surely be followed by the admission of Bucky's feelings for his best friend.

Thus Bucky had come up with the brilliantly lame (in his opinion) idea of telling Steve through rhyme. And what better topic (in his opinion) than a combination of their recent failed attempt at viewing the Super Moon and his dislike for 'Beauty and the Beast'?

Steve tugged at the sheet and Bucky allowed him to pull it away from his fingers.

_Here goes nothing. Please don't be nothing._

Bucky's hand on Steve's shoulder had started to feel like a damp squid. He let it fall to his side as Steve began to read the poem.

He went through it silently for a second, but then snorted and finally guffawed. Hearing a guffaw from Steve was quite something else, that loud sound exploding from someone so lean. Bucky found himself equally fascinated by it and wanting to unzip the fabric of space-time between them, step into the void and never return to Steve guffawing at what he had composed.

Because he knew that Steve had not gotten the message.

The two boys squeaked in tandem when the bedroom door was flung open without warning.

"Steve-O, your date's arrived. Would you be wanting me to ask her to wait downstairs? Oops too late 'cause I invited her up with me."

Bucky growled and made throttling hands at Becca who gave a little hop into the bedroom. Then his twin stepped aside, and there stood Peggy.

He was gay, had never felt a twinge of attraction for the fairer sex, but Bucky had to admit Peggy was a knockout in her short, simple cardinal red tunic and dark brown leggings. She looked so well put together that Bucky had to wonder if it was a Peggy thing or if all 17-year-old British girls oozed that much elegance.

She followed Becca in and Bucky saw a sight for sore eyes behind her.

Wanda Maximoff breezed in and pounced on Bucky's bed, immediately folding her legs underneath her and flipping her long, dark brown, red-tipped hair over her shoulders before saying in a lightly accented voice, "Hello, James. Very handsome, Steven."

Bucky had to grin at her. The Sokovian had been staying with them since arriving in New York five months previously, and she had clicked instantly with Becca and Bucky as well as their mother. She was to the siblings, without a second thought, their sister. The host family was already dreading the end of the five months she had left in the US before she had to return to her country.

Wanda and Peggy were active members of the Exchange, a student group organized to foster friendship and understanding between foreign exchange students and their American counterparts. Although the same age as Bucky, Becca and Steve, Wanda spent her Saturdays at their high school teaching Sokovian to any student or teacher who was interested in the Slavic language. Bucky wondered what she was doing home so early. He raised questioning eyebrows at her.

"Moral support. Becca told me," came the answer, soft and meant for only his ears.

Of course Becca had. He had planned on telling her himself that evening. Bucky felt warmth and love for both his birth sister and his chosen one suffuse him. So he stretched out a hand to tug at her hair, which earned him a slap to his thigh.

He turned back to where Steve and Peggy stood in quiet conversation, their bodies touching from shoulder to wrist and heads bent towards each other.

The ache in his heart was now joined by keen pricks. In his mind's eye, he pictured the vessel painfully clenching and then unclenching in a slow counterpoint with tiny shards of calcium carbonate that had somehow broken free from his ribs and were now poking at the myocardium. His ears filled with a soft rushing sound, as though he were standing between two fans turned on at the lowest setting. He felt the edges of his vision darken while conversely, the glow around Steve and Peggy grew, like a beatific pronouncement of love, everlasting.

He knew then that he no longer had a crush on his best friend.

He was in love with him.

And would not possibly have any chance of fulfilling it. 

A firm, warm hand slipped through his and gave it a tender squeeze. He looked down at Becca's delicate pianist fingers. After his heart throbbed and was poked at for two more beats, he released the breath he had been holding in, willed his tears away,  and squeezed back.

Steve was saying something to Peggy and they both laughed, their faces a rosy hue in the glow of the late-morning sun beaming its way through the open window into Bucky's room like a gleeful traitor.

Steve did his left pec grab that he would do when something was particularly funny. Bucky had to get out of there.

Another anchor settled on him; Wanda gently wrapped her hand around the back of his thigh and drummed her fingers reassuringly against it.

" - and you should read Buck's poem! It's hilarious!"

_Slow thump. Pause. Stab._

"Buck, I was telling Peggy about our failed Super Moon stake-out. Here, Pegs, I'll read it to you."

Bucky did not have the strength to stop him. Becca squeezed his hand harder.

Steve cleared his throat, and began:

 

"Super Moon, because you shyly hid

Behind clouds like a teen with a ginormous pimple,

Repay me now with a wish I bid

For blood lost to mozzies I'll keep it simple...

 

Make this Belle love The Beast

For all his innate pureness;

Show her he's not ugly in the least

But rather capable of profound goodness

 

The Beast is diviiiinely majestic in his growliness;

And oooo heart eyes hirsute,

(Like a properly enunciating Chewbacca no less!)

Y'know Moon *wink wink* my kinda cuddly cute

 

So what Belle should do is say:

"Let all the petals of the red rose fall.

I care not if a beast you stay

I ADORE you, fangs, horns and all."

 

"In winter you can keep me warm,

In summer, yeaahh you may need a brazilian;

But Beastie, there isn't a need to conform,

Our love is special, one in a googillion."

 

Some values are so outdated

In this quote unquote 'tale as old as time';

They leave me fumingly frustrated,

*thumps fist on table*

birthing furry horned pups ain't no crime!

 

Steve delivered it with the right amount of expression and emphasis, and by the end of his recitation, he, Peggy, Becca and Wanda were laughing. Bucky had to admit, it was kind of funny. The way Steve had presented it helped. 

Wiping tears from his eyes, Steve said, "Well, Peggy, shall we? The matinee starts at 3, but we'll go grab a bite to eat first?"

Peggy nodded with a chuckle. 

"Not bad, Bucky," she said. As she made to step through the door Steve held open for her, she turned and with a knowing look in her eye, said, "Your kind of cuddly cute, eh? Interesting."

As soon as the door closed, Bucky turned and fell face first onto his bed. His bed welcomed him. It was a nice, comfortable, comforting bed. It would not hurt him.

"Really, Buck?" Becca flopped down beside him, making him bounce a little. "'My kind of cuddly cute'? That was how you were gonna come out to Steve?"

Bucky moaned into his bedspread.

"It is ok, James. It is not his time to see you."

Bucky turned his head to the side to look up at Wanda.

"When then?" He sniffed as one, then two and a couple more tears strayed out from the corners of his eyes.

"When he opens his eyes of course, milácik."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and thanks for reading this!  
> I may be referencing some of my favorite authors in later chapters -- haven't thought that far ahead! -- and here we have one of my favorites of all time, Sir Terry Pratchett. Tiffany Aching, if you didn't already know, is a kickass badass witch. Her Third Thoughts are introduced in 'A Hat Full of Sky':  
> 'First Thoughts are the everyday thoughts. Everyone has those. Second Thoughts are the thoughts you think about the way you think. People who enjoy thinking have those. Third Thoughts are thoughts that watch the world and think all by themselves. They're rare, often troublesome. Listening to them is part of witchcraft.'  
> Poor Bucky. His Second Thoughts went a little off the rails and his Third Thoughts slapped him in the face, but he tried.  
> I reference Slovakian for Wanda's Sokovian. The word 'milácik(there's meant to be a diacritic breve over the c, but I'm typing this on my phone which does only common accents) means, according to wordhippo: 'blue-eyed boy, darling, dear, ducky, sweetie, honey, sweetheart.' The Wanda in my head is saying 'sweetheart' though.  
> I hope you were fortunate enough to view a proper Super Moon some weeks back, but here in Kuala Lumpur, it was a disappointing, cloud-shrouded no-show  
> Are there mosquitoes in New York?  
> Unbeta'd, so all booboos on me.


	2. Game Gay

The week after the Day of the Great Poem Epic Fail, as Becca had taken to calling it (or DOTGPEF for short. Pronounced _dot-guh-peff,_ she had helpfully instructed), went the opposite of swimmingly for Bucky. 

At school, on days that Peggy’s 11th Grade classes brought her to their neck of the woods, he was relegated to walking a few steps behind Steve and her, and on Wednesday in the cafeteria he spent a memorable fifteen minutes feeling like a third wheel as they animatedly discussed Britishisms used in America.

DOTGPEF itself had ended relatively well, considering how Bucky had felt that morning. His mother had been clued in on what had happened and had pulled him into a commiserating hug.

Winifred Barnes, Winnie to all but the prim and proper clerk at the middle school at which she taught English, was not a short woman, but in that year Bucky had had a growth spurt and now stood over her by a good three inches. Still, he curled himself into her embrace, laying his head in the crook of her neck with a soft, plaintive, “Mommy”.

“Oh sweetheart,” she had said, rubbing his back in slow comforting circles.

They were standing quietly at the doorway to the kitchen while Becca and Wanda lay the table for dinner.

“But I do have a question, love,” she had said.

“Mmm?”

“Should I start stockpiling shaving blades?”

“What?” Bucky asked, raising his head to look at her in bewilderment.

“‘Heart eyes hirsute’? You'll be bedding a beary type I presume.”

“Ma!”

“Maybe a heavy-duty electric shaver? I mean, if he's of a Wookie persuasion…”

"Maaa!”

 

That Friday, Steve and Peggy went on their second date, this one to the diner that he and Steve frequented. After that Bucky spent the hours between 10.33pm and midnight listening as Steve enthused over her.

“ _God,_  Buck! Peggy's the best!"

"She's got the cutest little dimple in her left cheek!"

_Cuter than mine Steve? I have two, you know. Not counting the one in my chin._

"And that accent of hers!"

_I can do a British accent! I can do a Russian one too! And a French one! You love my French one!_

"And her sense of humor! Buck! She is FUNnee!"

Steve proceeded to tell him one of Peggy's jokes which involved the Devil and a Sunday morning in a church.

As Bucky listened, he knew without asking that Steve would have reacted to Peggy’s jokes by snorting chocolate milkshake out his nostrils, or coughing to prevent from choking on whichever piece of food he had had in his mouth at the time. 

He would have laughed out loud, right hand to left pec as though swearing an oath to how hilarious the joke was. Or he would have had his forehead down on one arm, the other in a fist that thumped their table in that diner, his shoulders quaking as he laughed silently.

Perhaps he had even guffawed.

He knew Steve's cheeks would have been flushed from laughing hard. That in his mirth, his eyes would be scrunched shut, but then he would have opened them and the blue in them would have been dazzling. And he would have been beaming that great big smile of his, the one that made Bucky’s lungs feel a little bereft of oxygen every time it was directed at him.

He knew that Peggy would have seen all this and would be so taken by Steve and.

Bucky did not want to dwell on ‘and what’.

"And her smile, Buck. God, Buck. _Her smile._ "

Steve's sighed over the phone. Bucky pictured him sitting on his stars and stripes bedspread with his back against the wall his bed was set flush against. His legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His toes curling, the knuckle of the left big toe cracking as he squeezed it. One arm lying across his flat tummy and the elbow of the other holding the phone perched on the back of that. His blond hair mussed up from having run his fingers through it as he relived the date. A dopey grin… no, a soft smile on his lips. That lovely dusting of pink across his cheeks.

The plastic casing on Bucky's phone gave a protesting squeak. He eased his grip on it, feeling a little burn in his knuckles as he flexed his fingers.

Though he tried, Steve could never tell a joke without first practicing it umpteenth times. Even then he would get the sequence wrong. Predictably, he messed up the punchline to Peggy’s joke and was giggling at himself. It was a cute sound and Buck could not help but huff a laugh at it.

And so on it went. Peggy this and Peggy that. When the call ended, Steve had neither asked Bucky about his plans for the following day nor said he would be coming over.

Bucky could not remember the last time that had happened.

 

The following morning saw Bucky sitting on the couch in the living room, their Scottish Fold Meowdam Lulu on her back next to him, her head leaning a little off his thigh with her eyes closed, one paw curled to her chest, the other stretched out and being groomed by her little pink tongue. The tortoiseshell looked so zen that Bucky could not resist stroking her well-padded downy belly even while fretting over what he was about to do.

His phone was cradled in his other hand. He stared at the darkened screen. The darkened screen stared serenely back, unhelpfully reflecting his face.

The previous night’s phone call had made him more determined than ever not to tell Steve face to face that he was gay.

It was not that he thought his orientation would cause Steve to end their friendship. He had faith in that continuing for as long as they breathed. But it was the likelihood Steve would look into Bucky's eyes and see the hidden truth there. What would happen then? Would Steve really feel comfortable being around him knowing Bucky was in love with him? Bucky could not jeopardize their friendship.

So he had decided to tell Steve via text message. He would make the excuse that they would have to communicate via text because the battery of his phone was low. Steve would read it and text back. Or Steve would read it and wait until Monday at school to tell Bucky what he thought of it. Or Steve could possibly go right over to Bucky's house.

The last possibility caused that morning's oatmeal and blueberries to gurgle acidly in his stomach, but Bucky thought that as long as he did not have to do the Big Reveal to Steve's face, he would manage.

He had typed out his succinct message, and had dithered over sending it long enough for the screen to go dark. Thirty-odd minutes before.

He slid his thumb over the screen to wake it up, checked that his ‘Steve, I'm gay’ had not been accidentally deleted. He placed his thumb on 'send', and then jerked as its sudden ringing startled him.

It was 'Riptide', Steve's caller ringtone. Steve's nostrils gazed at him from the screen. Steve was calling him.

He gaped at the phone, his heart beating a staccato riff.

Bucky let it ring out. When it finally fell silent, he checked in panic if he had hit 'send'. He had not, and he sank back into the couch in limp relief.

His hand sought comfort from Meowdam who welcomed it with a revving up of the motor in her chest. Rolling over, she pulled herself up to the thigh closer to her and rested her head on it. Once she had his attention, she chirruped a question at him. Bucky's heart bulged with devotion for the sweet tortoiseshell. Rubbing a thumb on the velvety fur between her eyes, he responded with a softer chirrup to ease her concern. 

The Scottish Fold was two years older than he and Becca, and Bucky tried not to linger on the fact that his lifelong confidante and comforter had lived past the expected age of most Scottish Folds. When Becca and he were old enough to understand, their mother had related how Meowdam had become a Barnes one stormy morning after their father, who'd been on his walk home from the hospital where he'd been training as a nurse, had rescued her from where she had been clinging desperately to the rough masonry of a storm drain as water rose under her. The kitten had been given the name Lulu, but when Becca was going through a period of Downton Abbey obsession, ‘Madam’ had been tacked on. It was short work for it to evolve into what she was now called.

Looking at her, his thoughts turned to his father. He marveled as he always did at the sort of man his father had been. To have been aware of a kitten's distress in a drain in a storm, and then climb in to rescue it despite the risk to his life.

Bucky’s eyes panned the living room, taking in photographs that wore wooden, cork, ceramic, tooled-metal frames. Several hung with perfect posture on the walls while most leaned amiably against the supportive spines of books on three large bookshelves that spanned the length of one wall.

Photos of Becca and him at every stage of their lives. Some of Steve and him through the years. A particularly fond one of a mud-covered ten-year-old Becca, Steve and Bucky, their arms slung over each other’s shoulders and faces wreathed in huge watermelon-slice grins after they had had a rolling good time on a field after the rain. Three recent ones in a collage frame on the piano across the room from the shelves: the middle photo of Wanda smiling sweetly at the camera. To its left, his mother, Becca, Wanda and himself - Steve had taken that one - and to its right the twins and Wanda with their heads thrown back in laughter.

There were only two photos of his parents together though. And just one of his father. His mother had told them that times were hard when they had gotten married and a camera had not been a priority. “Thank God for the phone cam,” she would often say as she whipped out her phone to snap a photo.

A moderately-sized wedding photo in an ornate pewter frame hung with quiet importance on the butterscotch-coloured wall over their upright piano. On the piano itself, one of Winnie and George in sunglasses standing at the ferris wheel in Coney Island, and one other of Bucky’s father alone.

Bucky gently eased Meowdam’s head down so that she could rest fully on the cushion, which earned him an amber-eyed blink.

Slotting his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, he got up and walked over to the piano. Lifting the small float frame, he looked at his father gazing back at him.

He and Becca had inherited their dimples from him. His eyes, unlike theirs which were a dark turquoise blue, twinkled like blue opals in that photo. Had they inherited his courage and kindness too? 

Winnie had reassured him they had. When asked what his father would have thought about his coming out, she had said he would have championed Bucky's right to be whatever he wanted. He had to believe her for Becca and he had known the man for only a year of their life before a collision between a truck and his Pinto had taken him from them.

Still, Bucky longed to know what words of advice his father would have had for him.

Bucky raked a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed heavily. A large mason jar with colorful pieces of folded paper in it sat next to the photo. The brainchild of his bibliophile mother, each small rectangle contained a word or a phrase with its definition. All of them, including Winnie herself and Steve if he was so inclined, would make it a point to work the word into their conversation. There were only a handful of chits left in it. They took turns preparing the words each week. Bucky was responsible for that week's collection and knew the words by heart, but needing to get his mind off Steve if only for a little longer, he reached into the jar and pulled out a small folded light green rectangle.

Unfolding it, he read a word he did not recognize and typed in a font he had not used. 

 **Litost (n.; origin: Czech)** Def: a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.

_Eg: The Dingaling experienced an acute **litost** when he bumped into the unattainable boy he was crushing on._

_Oh hardy har har, Becca._

He drew out another chit.

 **Schadenfreude (n.; origin: German)** Def: the feeling of pleasure derived by seeing another’s misfortune.

_Eg: The breathtakingly beautiful princess, her long, chestnut-coloured hair teased by a gentle zephyr that had arisen, was awash with **schadenfreude** upon seeing the despair of the turnip head that was her pathetic excuse for a brother._

Bucky snorted out a laugh. He wondered for how long those words had been waiting to be discovered. Had she added them that morning before leaving for Christmas shopping with their mother and Wanda? She had looked a bit shifty, so perhaps. Digging deeper into the small pile, he pulled out a blue chit.

 **Velleity (n.; plural: velleities; origin: New Latin)** Def: a mere wish, unaccompanied by an effort to obtain it.

_Eg: Ah the **velleities** of chicken-hearted numbnuts; so much desire, so few cojones._

Drawn into the corner of that one was circle in which two large eyes were set in a squint over a goofy smile with an overbite. Bucky chuckled.

He'd have to return the favor one day. Annoying the shit out of each other was pretty much quid pro quo with them, but he loved Becca fiercely and was gratified by her attempt to cheer him up. 

His right bumcheek began to vibrate. Pulling his phone out, he contemplated the undershot he had taken the previous summer of Steve's nose and wondered not for the first time at the nasal hair that furred the perimeter of the left nostril but not the right.

Swallowing, and then swallowing again, he tapped the screen.

There was quite a bit of static over the line. Bucky could barely make out Steve’s ‘Hey Buck!’

“Hey Steve. ‘Sup?” he said.

"What?!"

"I said what's up!"

As far as Bucky could make out, Steve was saying something about taking Peggy ice skating and asking if Bucky would like to come along.

_How nice. Invited to a front row seat of my nose being rubbed in it._

In retrospect, he supposed that and the relative safety distance and satellite signals provided were what made him blurt out:

“Steve! I'm gay!”

And immediately clamped a hand over his treasonous mouth.

_Oh my God what have I done! Shitshitshit!_

The static was particularly bad for a few moments before Steve replied: “WHAT?!”

 _What_ what?!

He tapped the phone's loudspeaker on and raised his voice.

“I'm GAY!”

Bucky heard what sounded suspiciously like Steve laughing.

_He's laughing. Why's he laughing. Could it really be this easy? Have I been worried this whole time for nothing? Wait, why's he laughing?_

“Yay! That's great, Buck!” The line cleared up long enough for Bucky to catch him saying to someone with him, presumably Peggy, “He says he's game.”

 _Whut_.

“No Steve! GAY! I'm GAY!” Bucky hollered into the phone.

“What day? Tomorrow, Buck! Didn't you hear me when I said so? Geez this static’s ridiculous!”

Bucky stared incredulously at the phone.

“Ok, Steve,” he said weakly.

“WHAT?!”

“BYE STEVE!”

Bucky slid the phone onto the coffee table, trudged back to the couch, gathered an unprotesting Meowdam in his arms, hugged her to him and said, “Meow, I'm gay.”

And she hummed approval up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The title was inspired by a Tumblr post on what if Person A says he's game, but Person B thinks he's said gay. 
> 
> *Peggy's joke:  
> One Sunday Morning in Church .....  
> A few minutes before the service started, the towns people were sitting in their pews and talking. Suddenly, the Devil appeared at the front of the Church.
> 
> Everyone started screaming and running for the entrance, trampling each other in a frantic effort to get away from the Evil Incarnate. 
> 
> Soon everyone had exited the church except for one elderly gentleman who sat calmly in his pew without moving, seemingly oblivious to the fact that God's ultimate enemy was in his presence.
> 
> So, Satan walked up to the old man and said, "Don't you know who I am?"
> 
> The man replied, "Yep, sure do."
> 
> "Aren't you afraid of me?" Satan asked.
> 
> "Nope, sure ain't." said the man.
> 
> "Don't you realize I can kill you with a word?" asked Satan.
> 
> "Don't doubt it for a minute," returned the old man.
> 
> "Did you know that I could cause you profound, horrifying, physical agony for all eternity?" persisted Satan.
> 
> "Yep," was the calm reply.
> 
> "And you're still not afraid?" asked Satan.
> 
> "Nope"
> 
> More than a little perturbed, Satan asked, "Well, why aren't you afraid of me?"
> 
> The man calmly replied, "Been married to your sister for over 48 years."
> 
> *It's hard to resist the charm of Scottish Folds, isn't it? They cost a pretty penny here in Malaysia though, and are unlikely to be found in storm drains (or monsoon drains as they are known as here). If you haven't read the Norton the cat trilogy by Peter Gethers, I recommend it. Even if cats are not your cuppa tea, you'll find something in it to enjoy.  
> *Photos! Phone cams are a godsend. Thank you, technological progress.  
> *‘Riptide’ is the ringtone on my godson’s phone, and Vance Joy is so foooiiine <333 lalalalala  
> *Unbeta’d, so errors are on me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. What is the sound of one heart breaking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's heart stuttered as Steve stepped closer. He looked at Bucky. Looked into his eyes. His gave was unwavering as he said in a steady, certain voice:
> 
> "I love you. I'm so in love with you."

Bucky lay sprawled out on his back late that Saturday night, wondering in the dark at the incongruous weight that had settled in his chest.

It had begun as a little tickle at the back of his mind that had migrated South, where it had steadily grown throughout the day. It felt like he was supposed to be remembering something important, but for the life of him he could not coax it to the surface. It was reminiscent of the feeling he'd had when he, his Mum and Becca had been halfway through a three-hour journey to a weekend getaway in Waltham when he'd realized he had not packed any underwear.

It made him feel on edge, but picking at it proved futile. Figuring it would make itself known when it was ready to, he pushed it aside and turned his thoughts to the following day.

He was seriously considering doing something he thought he'd never do to Steve - cancel on a day out with him. He felt bad for thinking it, but not by much. Why would he want to go ice skating with Steve and Peggy anyway? Steve would want to be with Peggy and Bucky would end up being a lamppost. He needed a break from those two.

Steve. Peggy.

Peggy. Steve.

Bucky did not dislike Peggy though. Not at all. While he would not actually call her a friend, she was genuinely cordial towards him and made an effort to engage him in conversation, something which he did not often reciprocate. He did not speak to her voluntarily either. He wondered what she must think of him.

Was he jealous of her? He did not think so. Envious? Oh yes.

He sighed, and then realized that he had sighed. He felt like he was sighing on a regular basis now. Did people in love do that? The only sighs he recalled ever making previously were either loud, annoyed Becca-induced ones, or frustrated expulsions over some difficult to work out Math problem.

He was turning into a walking cliché of teen angst! Would he look good, he wondered, with his hair grown out and dyed black, his eyes ringed in black, his fingernails painted black, and he, dressed from head to toe in black?

He did not think Meow’s fur and emo clothes went together. He’d have to invest in lint rollers.

Sighing yet again, Bucky replayed the ridiculousness of the morning's telephone conversation. Twice he'd tried to come out to Steve.  Well he admitted he could have done a better job the first time rather than depend on his questionable verse. But that phone call? That was just bizarre.

Why was it so hard, he wondered, just to spit it out? There were no secrets between them apart from his not being able to reveal his true feelings. Hell, they’d even told each other about their first wet dream back when they were what, fourteen? Giggling fit to burst they’d been, faces red as beets in delicious embarrassment as they sat on Steve's bedroom floor that fall afternoon.

What was the problem then? Steve would be ok with it. He was not gay, but he would understand.

Bucky experienced a disquieting shift then from that pressure in his chest. An unpleasant chill slithered up his spine and spread out to goose pimple his arms as he remembered what he should not have forgotten.

Steve was not gay.

Was not gay…and would never want Bucky the way Bucky wanted him.

Ever.

The painful contraction of his heart was almost a physical sensation. Bucky would have collapsed from it were he not already lying down.

Peggy may be Steve's first, but the fact was that any future relationships he had would also be with the opposite sex.

Never with Bucky.

How could he have overlooked something so glaringly obvious?

He tried to get out of bed and seek out his mother, or Becca, or Wanda, but the jarring epiphany had crippled him.

With a low, anguished moan, he curled in on himself, his arms tight around his shins, his forehead pressed to his flannel-covered knees. His mind was empty at that moment save for that damning fact: the love of his life would never be in love with him.

Bucky lay shaking helplessly, buckled under by that sudden onslaught of grief and oppressive reality of what his present was and what his future held.

The bed dipped. Someone lay down behind him and molded themselves to the curve of his back. A slim arm wrapped itself tightly round his tense upper arm.

“Oh Buck,” Becca whispered, and his muffled sobs grew harsher now that they had an empathetic witness.

She wound her other arm under his neck and pulled him tight against her. His hands flew up to cling in desperation to hers as though they were all that held him together.

When he eventually slipped into sleep a long while later, it was with a nape dampened by silent tears.

_________

Bucky woke up to the beeping of his alarm clock.

The fitful sleep he had dropped off into had offered him little respite. Instead it had given him unsettling dreams composed of shadowy corners and indistinct shapes.

When he finally surfaced it was to eyelids that were tacky and temples that throbbed with a headache. He gathered the cuff of his long-sleeved tee and rubbed away the gunk around his eyes with it.

Becca was no longer beside him, but where she had lain was still warm. Affection for his twin swelled in him. How frightened she must have been though, to see him like that.

Their mother believed that sleeping on a problem was a good way to wake up with a different perspective on it. Bucky assessed his dilemma. He did not feel any better than he had the night before. He doubted that the burden of truth that weighed him down would ease anytime soon.

But he found that he had a solution: he would just… cope. He would live a half life if necessary, because he was going to go on being Steve's friend, and if that meant cheering him on through his relationship with Peggy or anyone else in future, he'd do it. Steve’s happiness meant more to him than his own. He would continue loving Steve and being in love with him.

He would cope.

_________

The Barneses and Wanda were typically early risers, even at the weekend. Winnie would be up by 5am, followed by the others usually an hour later. She would do her stretches and then head downstairs to grade papers or work out her lesson plan at the kitchen table. Becca would practice her scales on the piano, their immediate neighbor fortunately her piano teacher who was pleased with such dedication. Wanda would be Skyping with her twin brother, Piero, who had chosen South Africa as his destination for the student exchange program. And Bucky would do his planking exercises.

He was bone weary, but slid to the floor anyway. When he could not focus on his breathing, he just lay there, the heater-warmed floorboards generously sharing their coziness with him.

The crescendo and decrescendo of scalic passages winding their way upstairs prompted him to heave himself to his feet and make for the living room, stopping first by the bathroom to relieve himself.

He spent a moment taking stock of his reflection in the mirror as he rinsed his hands.

Face: pale. Eyes: red. Eyebags: like hammocks.

Visible cracks: none. Good.

________

Becca played the piano with an articulation that Bucky admired. Although he played too, he was nowhere as disciplined as she and had stopped attending lessons with Mrs. Lupo after he'd completed his grade 7 piano exam.

He waited at the doorway until she had finished her scales before he sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. They remained like that for several moments before Bucky sat back and said with a kiss to her forehead, “Thanks, kiddo.”

That would normally have elicited an irate ‘I'm only 7 minutes younger than you!’, but now Becca just looked sadly at him, tears filling her eyes.

He felt a pricking in his own as a lump lodged in his throat. He thumbed away her teardrops as he said, “I'm fine, Becs. Really I am. You being there for me helped a lot.”

“But why?” she asked in a small voice.

He understood her question. She had never seen him cry that way before. They had both never experienced anything like it. It must have blindsided her to see him in that state.

“I'm in love with Steve.” He wasn't surprised that she nodded in simple acceptance.

Tenderly,  he drew her in for another hug.

“And I realized last night that he would never feel the same for me,” he said into her hair.

“Buck.” Her voice came out in a wet whisper.

“It's alright, kiddo. It is what it is.”

She pulled back and looked searchingly at him before asking, “Will you be alright?”

He wanted her not to worry for him, but knew she'd see through a lie.

“Not for a little while, I think. But I'll cope.”

_______

The doorbell rang at nine that morning as Bucky was shouldering on his duffel coat.

“I'll get it! And am leaving! Bye!” he called out. From various parts of the house came replies telling him to have a good time.

“Yeah, unlikely,” he said under his breath. Opening the door, he yelled over his shoulder, “Becca! Luis’s here!”

Turning to his schoolmate and suitor after Becca’s hand, he fistbumped the 15-year-old in greeting.

“Yo Jabubs! Heading out to meet Steve?”

Before last night, Bucky would have replied with something nonsensical like _Naw, taking a plane to Maine_ , and they'd banter back and forth trying to out-rhyme each other. But that morning he wasn't in the mood.

It must have shown on his face. “Man, you ‘kay? You don't look so hot.”

Bucky aimed for nonchalance in his shrug, but Luis did not fall for it.

He clamped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and gently shaking him said, “Let it out. Everything's better out than in, man. Like farts.”

Bucky could not help but bark out a laugh.

“What? S’true what! You don't wanna keep it all in, man! It'll build and build and when it's beyond your control,” he gave Bucky’s shoulder an emphatic shake, “it will just _ee_ RUPT outta you, filling the air around you with the fermented aroma of your angst, bro! That’d be _nasty_ , man! Stin _kee_!”

Bucky was laughing out loud by the time Luis had finished offering his counsel. The happy-go-lucky boy always found some way to lighten the bad or sad  mood of others. He thought, as he often had since Luis had made his interest in Becca known to anyone who would listen, that she could do worse.

“You good to go and blind people with that hella gorgeous Barnes’ smile now?”

Bucky nodded with a grin.

“You so smart, Luis. How’dja get so smart? You took some smart pills or sumthin’?”

Luis brought both hands up to squish Bucky’s cheeks together. “Ah there's my sassy Jabubs!”

________

Bucky hesitated before letting himself into Steve's apartment. Whatever lightness he'd felt earlier had dissipated barely a block from home.

Instead, anxiety had been slowly inching up his spine for the last six blocks and dread had made a nice hot knot in the cage of his lungs. He wanted to turn back, to just walk - _run_ \- away from that knotty walnut door that had always welcomed him but now stood like what it was, a rectangular piece of wood, cold to the touch in the chilly morning air.

But Bucky had made up his mind to get on with life. And besides, he'd already gotten that far. In two, three hours he'd be back home and recovering from the experience.

Not bothering with the doorbell, he let himself in with the key he had been given in 5th grade. A quick glance around showed him that Sarah, Steve's mother, was not at home. He called out for Steve.

“In here!”

Bucky squared his shoulders and headed for Steve's room.

Of course his breath would catch at the sight of Steve standing before the mirror that hung over the dresser. He was clad in jeans and the dark blue henley Bucky liked seeing him in. He expected he'd be stifling small gasps at Steve's beauty for a long time, if not forever. He could do this. He knew he could. He had to. He had no choice.

“Hey, Steve.”

Good, his voice was okay. He sounded normal.

Steve looked at Bucky’s reflection in the mirror and turned around, his brow furrowed.

“You ok, bud? You look a little peaked.”

Conjuring up a smile he did not feel, Bucky waved a dismissive hand at Steve’s concern. “Yeah, no. I'm fine. Didn't get much sleep last night. Had a headache, but I'm good now.”

“You sure?”

Steve stepped in for a closer look. Bucky made a show of looking out the window by the bed to avoid making eye contact because _God, Steve's eyes are so_ _blue!_

“We don't have to go to the rink. We could just stay here and hang. Peggy’ll understand.”

The small flutter of hope Bucky felt was quickly squashed by: “I'm sure she wouldn't mind coming over here.”

Bucky wanted to scream, so he was quite surprised to hear how steady his voice was as he said, “Nah, I'm good to go.”

Steve positively beamed as he punched Bucky in the arm.

“Great! Because,” his smile turned bashful, “I wanna ask Pegs to go steady, Buck.”

The knot of dread tightened painfully. Bucky did not know how he managed not to utter a sound.

But worse was to come.

“In fact, I was hoping you'd help me out with something. See, I wanna tell Peggy how I feel about her. I'd like to practice before we go meet her?”

_And Bucky feels like he's standing on the edge of a precipice, his presentiment a hard palm on his back, ready to shove him over._

Bucky’s heart stuttered as Steve stepped closer. He looked at Bucky. Looked into his eyes. His gaze was unwavering as he said in a steady, certain voice:

“I love you. I am so in love with you.”

_And that is how Bucky’s heart breaks. He feels it, but there is no glass-like tinkle as valves shatter and shards of myocardium fall. He is able to marvel at how soundless it is. He should feel pain, shouldn't he? But there is none. He wonders why there's only numbness._

Steve went on. “I...I know it's been less than a month, but I think you feel the same way.”

 _Bucky’s brain feels sluggish, cumbersome, like it is too thick for its chamber, too heavy for his neck. But it is strangely not an unpleasant sensation at all._ _Steve's voice asking him what he thinks seems to come from a long way off._

 _He perceives his hands lifting themselves to cup Steve by the elbow_ s _and draw him close. He registers the surprise on Steve's face._

 _He listens as his voice husks out:_ “I'm so gone on you. You mean everything to me. I don't think I could survive a day without you by my side. _I_  love you.”

_His voice delivers this with perfect yearning. He observes as Steve’s lips part, his tongue sliding out to wet the plump lower one. He discerns the dilation of Steve's pupils. Steve is saying something. Bucky listens in anticipation because surely now? Now Steve would understand?_

“Oh _wow_ , Buck. You…you really think I should tell Peggy that? Should I use that same expression? Cos that was damn hot! You looked like _you_ were the one declaring your love! That's not too much though? Maybe I'll use ‘I'm so gone on you’' cos y'know, that's kinda how I think I feel ‘bout her.”

_And Bucky finds then that he has made a fatal error: it does hurt, this breaking of the heart. And it's so very loud. It shrieks its agony and he knows only he can hear it because Steve offers no reaction._

_He has to get out of there. He hears Steve asking him what's wrong. He hears himself say that he's not feeling well. The headache’s back. No it's ok Steve don't cancel Peggy's probably on her way to the rink no Steve stay I'll be fine just a short walk home I'll be fine I'll be fine sure you have a good time..._

_And then he's out on the sidewalk. It's hard to breathe. His lungs are on fire. His heart is jackhammering in his chest. Through the fog that descends on his mind he wonders how it is still doing that when it's been obliterated._

_His vision narrows to a tiny aperture through which he can see only his feet. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot._

_Street sounds recede. As his anguish grows, it becomes debilitating. He feels his legs grow leaden. He feels gravity sucking the air out of him, squeezing him, causing his breath to be forced out in short, throat contracting gasps, making him stoop lower and lower until he has to stop walking or collapse._

_He sprawls forward. He thinks it's because something solid has hit him from behind. He isn't sure. It could be gravity deciding he was to slow to reach the ground on his own. He falls against something hard and unyielding. He wades through the molasses muddle of his mind and notes it's the edge of a wrought iron railing. It seems to lead down to a basement apartment. He finds himself teetering on the edge of the first step in a short but steep flight of stairs. He can't regain his balance._   _He stops resisting and gives in to gravity to do what it will._

_It doesn't matter. What is more pain?_

_Strong arms grab him by his waist before he tips over. Sure hands right him. A voice is apologizing to him. The same voice, now concerned, calls him by his name._

_With effort he lifts his heavy head. A familiar face is looking at him with worry-filled deep brown eyes. He feels warm hands wrap around the sides of his neck as their owner asks him if he's all right, what's happened, what does he need._

_He opens his mouth meaning to answer, but chokes out a long, low keen instead. Brock - he remembers now…Brock Rumlow - enfolds him in a firm embrace, one hand around his waist and the other supporting the back of his head as Bucky leans in exhaustion against his shoulder, soaking the older boy’s jacket with tears._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, but it had to be done. Our poor baby had to be put through the wringer that is unrequited love. It gets better. Promise. When, I cannot say. 
> 
> *Heartbreak is traumatic, no matter how old we are. It doesn't have to be coupled with first love and hormones to be debilitating. 
> 
> *Luis! 
> 
> *Jabubs: a patented Luis Contraction® of James Buchanan Barnes. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. 
> 
> *And Good Guy Brock! More GGB in the next two chapters.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. ...And the difference is you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay. I hope you've all been keeping safe and well wherever you are.
> 
> @velleities, my phenomenal and über patient beta, how could mere thanks suffice?  
> A special shout-out to @SweetTeaFrances, for helping me keep Brock-speak real. Thank you!

A ringing trill roused Bucky from sleep. On his feet and shuffling to the window before the tendrils of sleep had fully evaporated, he found the bottle of sunflower seeds on his dresser more by instinct than by sight. He unscrewed the lid and bracing himself for a chilly blast of air, heaved the windowpane up and scattered the black oil seeds on the sill with a clipped ‘hello, long time no see’ through gritted teeth before quickly sliding the pane down.

It had taken mere seconds, but it was enough for wintry early morning to diffuse into the room, ousting the heat that had benignly reigned until just moments earlier. Goosebumps undulated over every exposed surface of Bucky's skin and he scurried back to the bed to get his blankets. He swaddled himself in two layers of thick cozy warmth and made himself comfortable on the wicker chair by the window.

The dark-eyed juncos, three of them that day, made soft absent-minded _chip chip_ sounds as they pecked with little pink beaks at the thin shells of the seeds. It had been close to two weeks since Bucky had last seen them. He supposed they visited any sill that held the promise of food, but seeing them on his delighted him.

On mornings after nights spent over, Steve would sit in that chair and sketch the little round-headed gray fluff balls. Bucky was surprised to note that the pang he experienced at the thought was an anemic thing, all its sharp edges blunted. Virtually painless.

He felt unburdened too. The lingering cold seemed to be having a restorative effect on him because he felt lighter than he'd had in days. Certainly a world apart from the state he'd been in the previous day. But he guessed all the crying he had done on Brock's shoulder was the real reason why.

Bucky’s face heated a little as he realized with a giggle the amount of snot he had probably left on Brock’s fleece jacket. How he would face his friend again, he did not know.

His mild embarrassment banked when his thoughts turned to marvel at how cleansed he now was given his wagon trail of dark emotions not even twenty-four hours before. The despair had been unrelenting, growing incrementally until he had careened into such anguish that for several hours, he'd lost himself. With all his heart, he never, ever wanted to go through that again.

He did not know if his feelings for Steve would remain the same or devolve into the platonic, brotherly love he'd had for him for years. Whatever shape or form his affection would take, Steve could give him only friendship. His heart tripped a little between beats and there was the familiar sting of tears, but why did he no longer feel like he was drowning?

Perhaps it really was like almost drowning. In crying, he had breached the surface, oxygen had flooded his lungs, and he could _breathe_ again? That had to be what catharsis was, what his crying jag had allowed - the freeing of his heart from its profoundly painful restraints.

Brock had been instrumental in this. He had held Bucky for however long Bucky had leaned against him crying, and when the tears had finally tapered off, Brock had made him sit on the steps down which he'd nearly toppled, and had gone to get him a bottle of water.

He'd been a quiet, calming presence through it all. When Bucky had regained some of his equilibrium well past noon, according to the time display on his phone - which also notified him of two miscalls and three text messages from Steve - Brock had invited him over to his home.

“Just till ya feelin’ yerself, yeah? Ya look like you’ve been through the ringer,” Brock had said in a quiet voice as he wiped away with the back of a knuckle a tardy tear that slid down Bucky’s cheek. “I live round the corner. Ya can wash up 'fore headin’ home.”

Studiously not checking Steve's messages, Bucky had sent off a text to his mom telling her where he'd be. Then Brock had led him to an apartment a street over. Though Brock had been over to his place often over the past year, it was Bucky’s first time in the home his friend shared with Coach Fury and his wife, Maria, his foster parents. The couple had welcomed him genially, but with some concern; the remnants of his breakdown must have been plain on his face, and he was thoroughly exhausted.

Coach Fury had shooed him to lay down for a nap on Brock’s bed. By that point, Bucky was so heavy-limbed he'd have fallen asleep where he stood if Brock hadn't put an arm round his shoulders and guided him to his room.

After a nearly two-hour crash, followed by an invitation to stay for dinner and Bucky’s first (and hopefully not last, he decided) taste of pita stuffed with falafel and hummus, Brock had walked Bucky home.

He knew that Brock had already given him enough that day, but Bucky asked for one more thing before his friend turned to leave.

“Could you... would you mind... I mean... I... hug-” and he was drawn into one before he'd even completed his request.

“Ya need someone to unload on 'bout what happened today, I'm here. But you'll be fine, yeah Buck? You're one of the steadiest people I know. And if ya want ‘nother one of this,  I'm here for ya. Always,” Brock had said when they'd pulled apart.

He'd spent the rest of the evening playing Scrabble with his mom, Becca and Wanda. The three of them were none the wiser to the drama of the day despite their wanting to know how he'd gone from meaning to spend the day with Steve to ending up at Brock's. He'd told them he hadn't wanted to be a third wheel, which wasn't the entire truth, but neither was it quite a lie. Becca had given him probing looks until he'd starting deploying words she'd never heard of and hitting triple-letter score bonuses.  

Watching the smallest of the juncos trying to pin down a seed that kept tenaciously scooting out from under the bird's taloned grasp and finally making its escape over the edge of the sill, Bucky thought of the kindness Brock had gifted him, and he felt humbled by it. He resolved to repay him somehow.

_________

That Monday was the start of their Christmas break and the twins, Steve and Luis had planned weeks ahead to take Wanda sledding in Prospect Park.

Before going to bed the night before, Bucky had finally gotten down to replying to Steve's texts. He was ashamed about it, but they'd been pretty much pushed on purpose to the back of his mind during the course of the day.

The first two texts were to ask Bucky if he was feeling better. The third was to inform him that Steve would not be able to go with them to the park. He and his ma were going to be in Brooklyn to spend the day with her cousin Lorraine who'd been diagnosed with cervical cancer.

Bucky had met Lorraine on numerous occasions and was crushed that such a lively, kind lady should have to go through that. Without a moment’s thought, he had dashed off a text that he'd go with them if Steve needed company. He'd only realized it was 1:04am when the message had been sent, but his phone had rung a couple of seconds later.

The temptation to let it ring out was strong. Bucky tapped the receiver icon because in the end, it was Steve.

“Buck, hey.” The slur in Steve's voice told Bucky his friend had to have been asleep when he'd gotten the text.

Bucky’s throat was dry. Swallowing after a false start, he said, “Hey, Steve. Did I wake you?”

A smacking sound over the line told him Steve was probably wetting his mouth. He was a mouth breather in sleep, something Bucky had taken advantage of in the past with the aid of a piece of thread and a small spider.

“Yeah, but s’kay. You feeling better? Didn't wanna ring earlier cos I thought you'd be asleep.”

Bucky was saved from telling a lie when Steve went on. “Bad day, huh?”

_You'll never know how bad, Stevie._

“Uh, yeah. But I'm better now.” Not wanting to dwell on it, he switched tracks. “So I'll go with you tomorrow if you like? I mean later today. ”

“Oh, nah. That's ok. Me and Ma’ll probably come back late.”

Bucky picked up on something in the quality of Steve’s voice. ‘You ok, bud?”

“Me? Yeah I… just sleepy.”

Bucky knew there was more to it and it probably had to do with Peggy, but he could not find it in himself to ask.

“Hey, but I'll be seeing ya tomorrow, right Buck? As in tomorrow tomorrow. Our dental appointment on Tuesday?”

Bucky hadn't forgotten. They planned who would meet at whose place and by the time their short conversation ended with a snore from Steve's end of the line, Bucky was ready to drift off too.

________

It was one of those crisp winter mornings on which the sun deigned to shine over the city, all brightness with none of the heat, the sky a pale blue canvas.

The teens were joined at the subway station by Scott, Luis’ best friend and classmate. The lanky boy greeted them with an excited wave and for Wanda, a bashful smile. He was harboring a not so secret crush on her, and Bucky knew he must have wrestled his normally curly mop of brown hair into a presentable coif just for her. Like Becca and Luis, Bucky had to stifle his laughter throughout the short ride to the park at the googly eyes Scott was making at Wanda, only to look away quickly whenever she glanced at him.

The walk up to the park saw Luis directing with gusto at Scott sappy love songs from the ‘70s which he proudly declared, though no one asked, his beloved _abuelita_  often listened to. Middle-aged pedestrians grinned at his pleasantly cheeky alto, and as she walked with her fingers laced through his, Becca looked a little starry-eyed. Bucky reminded himself to tease her about it later.

All of it, however, went over the head of Scott who trailed after Wanda like a besotted puppy.

________

One of the highlights of winter for the twins was a visit to Prospect Park. They enjoyed it when time allowed them in other seasons too, but every December would find them there, with Steve, at least once during their Christmas break.

He missed Steve. If they didn't make another visit to the park that year, it'd be the first time in their friendship that they wouldn't be there together. Perhaps he could come away and be with them for awhile. Lorraine’s place wasn't too far away, after all. Just a short bus ride if he didn't want to walk. Steve should be there with them. It was tradition. Their tradition.

He'd pulled out his phone and was about to take his mitten off to unlock it when he comprehended what he was doing. Taking a slow, deep breath, he slipped the phone back into his pocket. A day apart would be good for them. Would do _him_ good.

The trail they chose that day meandered past the soothing _Nyabinghi_ chanting and drumming of a Rastafarian band, whose red, yellow and green hats and beanies were a vibrant splash of color against the palisade of pristine snow-draped pines that grew behind them. The teens joined other visitors who had stopped to listen to the four-piece band.

To Bucky, the central drumming was like a slow, repeated heartbeat. He thought of Brock and how his friend's own steady heart had beat beneath Bucky’s ear that had been flush against his chest.

The memory buoyed his spirit.

_________

“The Sokovian landscape in winter is barren and desolate. And due to global warming in recent years, exceedingly frigid. But that in and of itself is a kind of beauty. It is why we have the best poets. One angry fist beating at the chest while the forefinger of the other hand points in wailing accusation at the absentee father in the heavens. Ah, such hopeless, tragic beauty.”

Scott stared slack-jawed at Wanda as she replied to his “So what's winter like in Sokovia?”

“Come, let us proceed to the sledding,” Wanda said with a little jerk of her chin to the slope ahead of them. “It is something I wish to do before I am old and gray.”

Bucky knew she was yanking Scott's chain. From the look on the boy's face, it was clear the realization that she was so out of his league was slowing dawning on him. Bucky wanted to both console and laugh at him.

They were heading up the slope to the sled rental booth when powdery soft coldness descended on him. Icy fingers of snow tickled their way into his ears and slid down his neck past the unhelpful defense of his thick woolen scarf.

Shoulders hunched up around his ears and mittened hands curled into fists, he turned slowly with a growl to the source of the gleeful clapping behind him and lunged after her when she skipped away squealing in laughter.

He scooped up a handful of snow as he chased after Becca. Catching up with her easily, he yanked down the back of her hoodie and deposited the snow on her head with a yell of victory.

“At least it wasn't a whole branch of snow, brat!” he retorted smugly as his twin protested loudly.

“But it was a very small branch!” she said with a whine, pointing accusingly at the now snowless pine branch as a tut-tutting Luis hurried up to her. “With just a little snow! And low-hanging and tempting! And you were just standing there! You think I could resist that!”

“ _Aiyaiyai, mi corazón_! What has your brother done to your beautiful _pelo_! Are you cold? Here, take my scarf. No? Let me use it to dry your hair then _querida_ , ok?” As Luis wiped away remnants of unmelted snow from his Becca’s hair, he shook his head at Bucky like a disappointed parent. “Bad Bucky.”

His sister and his friend made a cute couple. Becca’s head was bent towards Luis so that he could scarf-dry her hair and fuss over each strand. There was a pleasant burn in Bucky's cheeks and he realized he'd been grinning for some time. His grin widened even more when Becca gave him a wink from under Luis’ ministrations.

If he had to pinpoint the moment he knew he would survive come what may in his future with Steve, it was then, in the heart of Brooklyn, with people he cared about, shivering as melting snow made tracks down his back.

__________ 

  
They returned home later that afternoon just as Brock was climbing the steps to their brownstone.  
  
His look of minor alarm at having Luis shout out his name in greeting melted into a small smile when he set eyes on Bucky. For his own part, Bucky was incapable of not grinning back.  
  
He chose to ignore the questioning look Becca and Wanda were giving him and instead walked up to Brock and gave him a hug. He pulled back with a start when something squirmed where their chests touched.  
  
Brock unzipped his fleece jacket (not the snot-covered one from before, Bucky noted with an internal giggle) and pulled out what looked like a tiny black puff ball. It was a kitten, as black as midnight save for its eyes that were a warm mocha. The five of them were all over it within moments.  
  
Amidst their _oohs_ and _aahs_ , the front door opened and Winnie looked out.  
  
“What are you baby goats up to?” she asked. “Oh hi, Brock!” Her eyes fell on the kitten. An adoring smile lit her face, and she waved them in excitedly.  
  
They trooped into the kitchen to the tune of Luis and Scott debating how to tell if it was a male or female kitten.  
  
"Put it there, Brock," Winnie instructed while she fetched a small bowl and a can of Meowdam’s cat food.  
  
Brock placed the kitten gently in the middle of the small, square table, but it darted back to him and pressed itself against his jogger-clad thigh.  
  
“Where'd you find him?” Winnie asked as she scooped out a tablespoon of Mackerel Feast into the bowl. She placed the bowl near the kitten, but it refused to leave Brock’s side.  
  
Bucky did not know why Brock always seemed to be intimidated when speaking to his mom.  That afternoon wasn't much different from previous study group days at their home when he'd be tongue-tied around her. It took his Adam's apple some obvious bobbing before he could answer. “Found it in a storm run-off drain on my way home from my run. Poor thing was wet and cryin’ fit to burst.”  
  
Bucky didn't have to look at his mother and sister to know they'd exchanged a glance. This was confirmed when he heard a whispered _“What?”_ from Luis and the responding _“Tell you later”_ from his twin.  
  
“It was soaked,” Brock was saying as he dipped two fingers into the cat food and brought the kitten a bit to sniff at, “so I wiped it dry.” He reached into his jacket with his other hand and pulled out a small,  damp light blue towel flecked with  strands of short black fur. “With this.”  
  
As though anticipating the next question,  he hurriedly added, “I couldn't take it home cos our apartment has a no-pet policy and I didn't know where else to take it.”  
  
Seeing that the kitten was showing interest in the fish paste, he drew the bowl closer.  It leaned over the food for the briefest moment before snarfing it down.  
  
“Mommy-”  
  
“ _Maminka_ -”  
  
“-can we keep it?” Becca asked as Wanda nodded enthusiastically.  
  
“Oh, it's not up to me,” Winnie replied with a chuckle. “Let’s see what Meowdam Lulu has to say.”  
  
At the mention of her name, the Scottish Fold called out a questioning mew from her perch on the top of the fridge.  
  
Bucky brought her down and placed her next to the kitten, which scurried back to cower against Brock.. Meowdam ambled over to the little one and gave it an all-over sniffing, ignoring the ineffectual growly noises it was making at her and the paw it raised tentatively, ready to strike if it had too.  
  
Meowdam had been the sole cat of the household since kittenhood, and although he too wanted to give their visitor a home, Bucky wondered how she would take to it.  
  
After a thorough examination, the sweet-natured feline butted her head against the kitten’s flank with what seemed to be an approving chirrup. The kitten, however, didn't seem to know what to make of it and pressed itself closer to Brock, who wrapped a protective hand around its bony shoulders.  
  
“Oh yay!” Becca cheered. “What shall we name it!”  
  
“Ninja!” came Luis’ immediate response, followed by Scott’s “Mysterio!” which was met by a unanimous head shake from the others. His sheepish grin turned into a shy smile when Wanda patted a consoling hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Brock, you get to choose too cos you brought Buck this kitty,” Becca said. Her eyes widened comically as she sucked in a sharp gasp like she'd just had the greatest idea. Grabbing Bucky by the bicep with both hands and squeezing, she cried, “Oh my _God!_ Buck! Kitty! Buckitty! That'd be such a _cool_ name!”  
  
The others laughed in agreement. Bucky liked the cute ring to it, but he looked over at his friend. “Brock?”  
  
Brock did not answer right away. He looked down at the kitten, which was gazing wide-eyed around it as if wondering what all the tall, two-legged cats were going to do to it.  
  
“I ain't… I'm not,” he corrected himself with quick look at Winnie, “I'm not good at namin’ animals, but maybe Wanda should choose? Cos then you'll have somethin’ to remember her by when she leaves?”  
  
Wanda, the twins and their mother traded surprised but touched looks. Winnie smiled warmly at Brock.  
  
“That's a brilliant idea, Brock.” She wrapped an arm round Wanda's waist. “Please do us the honor, _ljubica.”_  
  
Brock passed the kitten to Wanda who cradled it in gentle hands and lifted it to eye level. It wriggled a little in her light grasp as she regarded it solemnly.  
  
Nodding as though she were answering a silent question, she looked up first at Winnie and then at the twins. But only for a moment. Before she lowered her eyes, Bucky saw that they were shiny.  
  
“Well, it's a tiny bit of a mouthful,” she said softly to the kitten, “but I'd like to name you _Moja Družina.”_  
  
It was the perfect name.  Becca rounded the table and threw her arms around Wanda and her mother. Bucky gave Brock a small, appreciative smile across the table and received a fond one in return.  
  
“Wait wait,” Luis raised an arm. “What's _‘moya droojheena’?”_

"Yeah!” Scott said with a perplexed look. "And how do we know if it's a boy or a girl kitty!" 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abuelita - little grandmother  
> mi corazón - my heart  
> pelo - hair  
> querida - dear  
> maminka - mom, mommy  
> Ijubica - sweetheart  
> moja družina - my family 
> 
> *Title from What a Difference A Day Makes by Esther Phillips https://youtu.be/-6CAeDN9er8  
> Now don't go looking too much into the lyrics. Or maybe you should? Do? Or don't? Let us fold ourselves into the lotus position and meditate on it. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading the chapter!


End file.
